


as long as there is life in me

by bramblecircuit



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ghosts, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Slow Burn, autistic characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-08-08 18:00:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7767691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bramblecircuit/pseuds/bramblecircuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“Ghosts?” He shook his head. “Stirring up a little mischief in our room just for kicks?”</em>
</p><p>  <em>“I’m sure they have a reason.” Vanessa leaned forward, nearly close enough for her hair to brush against his face. “The meeting of two lives is never an accident, no matter the mess it creates.” </em></p><p>Ethan and Vanessa hoped for a carefree junior year, but with a ghostly presence in their room and an undeniable attraction to each other, it seems this year will be anything but simple.</p><p>--</p><p>Trigger/Content warnings will be posted in the notes at the end of each chapter. Character and plot tags will be updated as the story progresses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a room with a view

It was the view from the window that made him optimistic. 

Not the floor, finally free of boxes. Not the stack of textbooks perched on the corner of his desk. Not even the sight of Vanessa’s comforter on the bed across the room, a deep blue reminiscent of a desert sky. No, it was the view that made Ethan Chandler entertain the hope that this year, whatever it might bring, would be far superior to the last. 

“Afternoon, Ethan.” Vanessa backed into the double, cradling a box carefully to her chest. She smiled as she took in the neatness of the room, enveloping herself in the lightness the huge windows allowed. “This looks far less grim than our housing last year! Caves, really. Barely enough space to move around in.” She set the box in the center of her desk and started unloading. “Properly excited for the first day?”

Ethan tore his eyes away from her hands’ quick maneuvers (much more graceful than his, he thought) and met her gaze. 

“The arrival of the freshmen!” He picked up a pen she’d dropped and set it on the corner of her desk. “Swarming over our turf like ants. Crowding our only dining hall.” He scoffed. “Asking too many questions.” 

“Oh, you don’t really mean that. A little enthusiasm can do a world of good. You ought to try it.” She teased him, but her eyes held only warmth, if not a touch of concern. Sophomore year hadn’t been kind to either of them, and recovery… Well, it took longer than a few summer months. 

It haunted her in snippets: the dark circles under Mina’s eyes. The self-imposed isolation. They’d planned on graduating together since childhood; she knew it was better for Mina to take a year off, but the campus felt like a moon perpetually waning without her, only a shell of what it could be. She couldn’t count the times she’d said goodnight to an empty bed. 

And she’d seen Ethan restless, too. Reaching for a door only to have it slammed open, the anger in his eyes replaced by shock when he realized he’d almost hurt her. He’d pushed his phone into his pocket and nodded at her in greeting before hurrying into the stairwell. She swallowed at the memory. She’d been startled, yes, but but it was his determination that sent her heart into flight. She couldn’t forget the grimness of his face, his usually pleasant smile flattened into an iron line. 

“Take a look at this view, would you?” She shook the memories away and moved closer to him, all too aware of how illuminated he looked in the sunlight, how blessed. The view was common in her opinion, just a stretch of grass framed with a few attractive trees. Nothing to revere as Ethan did now, his hands curled around the windowsill, his shoulders hunched forward.

“I can’t see a single place on this campus I’ve been hurt,” he breathed, and it clicked for her. “Not a room I’ve lost myself in.” He smiled to himself. “That space out there is mine.”

Ethan could feel Vanessa’s gaze tracing the side of his face. Her compassion, her pride in him—clear as day, and all the more poignant because of how much he’d missed her. He thought he should do something—wrap an arm around her shoulder, or take her hand—but he couldn’t. Still, the contentment of feeling her presence so close to him made him think such things weren’t impossible for long. 

Not with a view as promising as this.


	2. as the lights go out

Vanessa normally loved the first week of school more than anything. Gifted with a natural inclination to schoolwork, she’d fall into a routine quickly, the assignments on her schedule giving way to free time. Free time she’d happily spend with Mina.

She reassured herself that there would still plenty to enjoy: ice cream at the bookstore—best shared with a friend—comparing first impressions of professors and classmates...with her best friend. Studying in the same room. Walking to dinner together, the breeze messing up their new haircuts. The texts, the selfies, the nights that went too late for no particular reason.

Vanessa swallowed to keep back the tears. She’d thought—incorrectly, it seemed—that once she survived sophomore year the worst would be over.

And that was the cruelty of it: she kept _forgetting_. She couldn’t help that she’d built her life to include another person; there wasn’t supposed to be any harm in a childhood friendship. But as she stood in front of the building for her first class of the year, Vanessa swallowed the hard truth that she would either change her behavior or stay lonely until she graduated.

A boy brushed past her and opened the door to the English building, and she slipped in behind him, autopilot taking over. Settled in her usual seat at the end of the table, she pulled her thumb along the edge of the textbook to keep herself from floating off completely. Again, then back—there’d be a dent in the pages if she kept up at this rate, she realized faintly, but it didn’t bother her much.

“Well, _this_ is new.” Vanessa stopped running her finger along the paper and looked up. The professor had stopped in the middle of roll-call. She scanned the room and noticed a student clenching his hands together to keep them from shaking.

She recognized him as the student who’d opened the door in front of her. Vanessa looked at him closely: dark circles under his eyes, nervous fingers, a few mild burns along his arms. He looked more than uncomfortable at the attention. Vanessa suspected he wasn’t an English major.

“Victor Frankenstein?” The class broke into a mixture of soft laughter and conversation. The boy in question raised his hand.

“Here,” he whispered. 

“Thought you ought to connect with your roots?”

“I—” He looked miserable now, his knuckles white where he clutched at the end of the table. Vanessa felt her own anxiety spiking. It was unfair, she thought, making fun of the kid because of his name. It was his parents’ foolishness, not his.

“Happy to have you in my section of British Romanticism, Victor.” The boy nodded, his eyes firmly focused on the book in front of him. “Please open to the third page of the introduction. May I have a reader for the poem in the middle of the page?”

Vanessa trained her eyes on his hands and looked up when he flipped open his textbook. She smiled at him as if to dispel the awkwardness, and a spark of gratitude flashed through the boy’s eyes. He seemed nice—definitely a quiet type, which suited her well. Vanessa tried to imagine a friendship with him. Maybe they’d study together at nights, order pizza. Watch videos of cats.

* * *

Ethan looked up from the book he’d brought and took a deep breath. The environmental center always made him feel more himself. He wasn’t near the heart of it, just a few trails removed from the perimeter, but it didn’t really matter how far you’d walked once you were in the forest. The patches of light streaming through the branches had a way of making you feel like you were miles away from campus.

It wasn’t feasible to do all his work here, nestled in the roots of a tree far older than he was, but this expanse was his home more than any room on campus. He breathed in time with the fall of the leaves and walked as softly as a wolf.

He packed his bag and wound his way back to the perimeter, walking past the observatory and cutting through the pine trails. Fifteen minutes went by and he stepped onto the street; it always startled him a little, how quickly he could move from a place of solitude to the mechanical bustle of town. There was no warning by the entrance. You could forget yourself for a moment and wake up in a sanctuary of foliage.

“Already working, are you?” Vanessa gave no indication she’d heard him enter, her hands busy tacking a schedule to the corkboard above her desk. She bit her lip in concentration as she counted the days before each final exam.

Her silence didn’t bother him at all. It was comfortable, in a way, existing as a bystander to her private workings. He pulled the textbook from his bag and began copying notes. Information made more sense to him the second time around, and sure enough, something he’d surrounded with question marks proved itself to be simple indeed.

He looked up at Vanessa. She’d hopped from her perch on the desk and settled in her chair, immersed in a wall of text on her phone. He felt the urge to share his discovery with her, to somehow communicate his pride at understanding the material better, but the thought passed as quickly as it came, and he felt foolish in its wake. He trusted her. It wasn’t even like him to trust people so quickly, but Vanessa—

She was the kind of person who takes your pain and makes it her own.

Embarrassment spread over him as he remembered their first interaction. He’d...what had he been doing, exactly? He’d walked into his advisor’s building—yes, that was it—his fists at his sides, his footsteps fast and purposeful. He’d been late for an appointment, and besides, he was in no state to walk into a professor’s office. Torn between crying and punching a wall, he’d collapsed into a chair in the study area, barely noticing that there was another student already there.

_“Are you…” She paused mid-sentence. “Do you have an appointment with Professor Murray?” He looked up. He’d seen her in this building before, always studying, always quiet. He didn’t think he’d ever heard her voice before._

_“I missed it.” Ethan zipped his jacket and pulled his knees to his chest. He knew he looked childish, sitting like this, but he couldn’t be bothered to keep up appearances. That seemed to be the theme of today, he mused to himself. He just didn’t care anymore._

_“Do you need to reschedule?”_

_“I don’t think it matters right now, does it?” Ethan winced. He may be upset, but that was no way to make an introduction. “Sorry, there’s just...a lot going on right now.” He stood up. “I’m Ethan.”_

_Vanessa took his hand. “Vanessa.” He settled back into his chair. “And…” She paused. “If you need to talk about what’s bothering you, just say the word.”_

He’d trusted her since then. Irrationally, perhaps, but it was the kind of interaction that makes both of you into someone recognizably human. When he looked at her now, he saw someone who could make sense of his life.

Vanessa stifled a laugh, the sound breaking him out of his memories. He smiled at that. He’d always thought he was alone in the small joys of studying—the reactions to a novel for class, the silent exhilaration of understanding a difficult sentence. It made Ethan hopeful that it was just as he suspected upon meeting her—they were compatible.

“When do you think—”

“Do you want to go to dinner?”

They held eye-contact far longer than was necessary, but they were smiling, so who was counting?

* * *

“There’s this boy from class who’s getting a little more attention than I think he wants.” The two of them checked the street. “His name,” she said, her amusement creeping into her voice, “is Victor Frankenstein. He’s in British Romanticism with me.”

“Frankenstein, huh?”

“He signed up for the class, so he must’ve known what to expect. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a person look so uncomfortable.”

“You should talk to him more.” Ethan paused suddenly to let a group of friends pass by. Vanessa stopped herself from crashing into him just in time. _Chivalrous_ , she thought to herself. _...In a way._

“And why’s that?”

 _Because you don’t talk to anyone,_ Ethan thought. It struck him as odd that someone as kind and nurturing as Vanessa didn’t have more friends. No one had greeted him on the ten minute walk to dinner, which didn’t surprise him in the least, given the fact he’d transferred in his sophomore year, but her? What about classmates? What about hallmates? What about people she’d rescued from drunken, all-campus parties?

“Because he seems like the kind of person who could use a friend.” He opened the door to the dining hall—easily, Vanessa noted, even though it was quite heavy—and motioned her forward with a flourish. “After you, my lady.”

“That’s unnecessary,” Vanessa quipped. But she favored him with a smile.

The two of them maneuvered the bustle of the servery with poise, Vanessa significantly more skillfully than him. Ethan still felt a little awkward here, despite being a junior. He seemed to bump into people a lot; he’d never spilled anything, thank goodness, but Vanessa looked more like she was dancing than walking as she filled her plate, balanced a mug on its edge, and grabbed the right silverware without even looking. She knew her way around the place. Ethan sensed she was most at home doing things she’d perfected already,

And here he was, standing in the middle of the servery, a blank look plastered across his face. Time to get out of here. 

“Do you drink a lot of tea?” Ethan said. He slid onto the bench with the usual amount of difficulty.

“Because I’m English, you mean?” Vanessa brought the cup to her face but stopped before taking a sip. “Maybe that’s why.” She closed her eyes and breathed in. Ethan caught a whiff of chamomile.

Ethan pulled two napkins from the dispenser and folded one next to her plate. “Do you miss it?”

“Home?” Her eyes snapped open. “My best friend…” She trailed off. The city was complicated. Her relationship with her family was unconventional at best, but London was the home of her oldest friend. It was a place of laughter and exploration. Its history was messy, but its acceptance meant everything to her.

“So much, Ethan.” He nodded at that, stood up. Before she could wonder where he’d gotten off to, he returned and set a cupcake in front of her plate.

“This looked the least squished out of all of them.”

She laughed at that, aware of a softness in him she’d never been close enough to notice. She didn’t know exactly what to make of him—troubled, certainly—but he seemed just as kind as he was mysterious, and that was enough to make her feel warm as she headed back to the dorm with him.

“Go ahead, will you, Ethan? There’s something I remembered I needed to take care of.”

* * *

Ethan toggled the power switch again and muttered in frustration. “I’m not going to make you work,” he said to the light. “But I’d truly appreciate it if you could find it in yourself—”

Vanessa opened the door. “Hey! Just warning you, the power has been going on and—" The lights interrupted him with a surge of energy before leaving the room illuminated only by the sunset.

“...off?”

“...yeah.”

“Our first adventure!” The delight on her face was clear as she panned her eyes thoughtfully around the room. Despite the growing annoyance Ethan felt at the lost time, he had to admit that her cheerfulness was remarkably cute. She continued to move around the room, her eyes closed this time, her hands sifting through the air as though parting curtains, or...swimming, or...

“What are you—”

“Shh!”

“Open the door,” she whispered. “The power. If it’s just our room, then…”

“Then something’s rotten in the state of Ohio.” Ethan stood up, the rustle of his clothes infiltrating the silence. He turned the handle. Pushed the door open.

Vanessa squinted at the stream of light, her smile broadening. “Ethan Chandler. How much do you know about ghosts?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw/cw: none
> 
> b: hey everyone !! sorry for the lateness. bit of a rough 24 hours.
> 
> j: but we're here now, and that's what matters !! hope you enjoy the first real chapter of the fic.


	3. just for kicks

“Ghosts?” He shook his head. “Stirring up a little mischief in our room just for kicks?”

“I’m sure they have a reason.” Vanessa leaned forward, nearly close enough for her hair to brush against his face. “The meeting of two lives is never an accident, no matter the mess it creates.”

He raised his eyebrows, barely keeping a smirk at bay. “I’m not sure I believe you.” The spark in her face at this moment: that was easy to believe in. The sun tomorrow—also relatively trustworthy. But Ethan couldn’t shake a more-than-slight discomfort at the idea of the past showing up at his bedside. He’d dealt with enough of that. 

“Well, sure—some of the legends are just legends. But the Tower ghost!” She snapped her fingers, her expression wild enough to start a fire. “That one’s real. The graveyard, of course, is stereotypically haunted. What’s to say there isn’t a lost soul seeking refuge under the canopy of our fluorescent lights, listening to us talk at this very moment?”

Ethan glanced at the dull square of lighting above his head. The cover of it was cracked, maybe from a drunken escapade of an old resident. The paint on the wall beside it was chipped in several places; even with the door barely cracked, he could locate the misshapen stain on his desk. 

“I don’t think I’d chose this room if I were hiding from the great beyond.” He regretted the comment instantly. It didn’t matter what a place looked like. Anything could become a sanctuary if the circumstances were right.

“Haven’t you ever felt lonely?” She stood up carefully. “To want nothing more than to duck in from the rain, not caring where?” Vanessa ran her hand from her desk to her chair and pulled her keys from its side. She slipped them into her pocket, the thin light from the hallway illuminating a sliver of her face, and turned as if to leave the room for some great escapade. 

Ethan nudged the door open with his foot. “Are we going on an adventure?” His reason told him he needed to find a well-lit place and spend an hour with his homework. But some part of himself felt drawn to follow her, like her voice was a song he’d learned as a child and since forgotten. The melody, the beauty of it, was sleeping in his chest, awaiting a calling bell. 

Vanessa took him in, squinting in the fullness of the hallway lighting. His arms were loosely bent, hands comfortable in his pants pockets. His hair stuck up a little—she had to press her fingertips together to keep from smoothing it down—and he stood halfway in the room and halfway out, belonging to neither world completely.

It would make a perfect picture, she thought. Perfect, but sad. 

“Yes,” she said. “Let me introduce you to one of my greatest friends.”

* * *

“So you’ve met the Tower ghost.” They trudged through the grass, damp from a rain neither one of them had noticed. 

“I have.” She focused on the sound of their shoes rustling the lawn, the barely noticeable rhythm. A pair of freshman dorms loomed behind them, misshapen crescent moons against the perfect indigo sky. The air was warm, almost pleasant; they could hear shouts in the distance, groups of threes and fives stumbling toward the apartments. 

“Care to—”

“Sophomore year, my first night in.” She snuck him a smile. “My friends have all unpacked. They’re gathering—riotously, of course—on the third floor.” She scanned her card and gave the door an extra nudge. 

“I’m alone when I enter the elevator. I didn’t know it was supposed to be lit.” Ethan leaned against the wall, nudging the button with his elbow. A bleary-eyed student wandered from their room to the staircase, their laundry basket dragging along the floor.

“It was dark?”

“Completely!” She laughed a little. “All dark except for the glowing red light next to the number three!” She stopped for a moment to take in his amusement, the faint disbelief lighting up his features. “I wasn’t alone that night.”

“No?”

“Not in the slightest. You can tell,” she added before he could object. “You’ll see.”

Ethan leaned against the metal railing, tapping the wall with every floor they passed. _Two, three._ He focused on the walls to keep himself from looking at her. Some of the graffiti was new. The messy quotations he remembered were fading against the red paint. _Seven, eight._

The door opened with a ding at the ninth. Ethan waited for the elevator to reverse its course before turning to Vanessa.

“...So. You were saying—”

A burst of noise rushed into the elevator as if they’d just passed through a windstorm. Ethan gripped the railing and closed his eyes, something cold and grief-stricken flooding his soul. He thought he’d heard a few words, but he couldn’t make them out. 

Vanessa stood in the midst of it all, unflinching. 

Ethan let out a slow breath once the commotion passed. “Are they all like that?” He took a step nearer to her. 

“Loud? No, this was quite unusual.” She frowned. He wasn’t normally like that. She’d seen ghosts rampaging before, devastated and elemental, but never him. The most he ever did was play with the light.

“Not that. Sad.” She looked at him in surprise, eyes flicking between his grip on the railing and the loss in his eyes. He looked smaller somehow, his plain clothes fading against the deep blues and reds of the mural on the walls. She took his free hand and gently squeezed it before letting it fall back to his side.

“They usually are, yes.”

* * *

They walked back in silence.

Ethan kept his eyes on the ground, his eyes glazing over. He was dimly aware of a tiredness spreading through his body, but he trudged on, unaware of how Vanessa kept glancing at him. Snippets of memory cycled through his brain, but those were removed, too, dull and faded. It was as if he were watching himself move forward, no longer connected to his body but somehow still tethered to the earth. 

_“Ungrateful…” “you’re just a boy…” “...knock some sense into you.”_

Vanessa touched his wrist and he snapped awake. He blinked, shaken. 

He’d almost walked into the street.

He could feel Vanessa watching him closely, but she didn’t say anything to him until they were safely in their room. She turned on the flashlight on her phone and balanced it on her bed before quietly closing the door.

“Did I upset you, Ethan?” In her haste, she’d forgotten how unusual it was, her closeness to the other world. Ghosts were natural to her, but for most people, they were either fairytales or nightmares. What was part of her routine struck other people as proof of demons that would never go away.

“What? No, nothing like that.” She continued to watch him as he tapped his thumbs on his desk distractedly. “It’s…” He trailed off before steeling himself for what he was about to say.

“I was thinking about how endings don’t stay that way.” Shame surged through his veins at that sentence, cackling at him, certain she’d distance herself once she knew how damaged he was. His past hounded him, simply ravenous for his security. _They’ll all leave you,_ it repeated. _No one wants to love someone as broken as you._

But Vanessa didn’t seem deterred at all.

“How so?” 

“I mean…” He gestured vaguely to the empty air. “You can try to end things with someone, but if they don’t want to let go of you...you’re never free, are you?”

“I was thinking there’s a kind of comfort in that.”

Ethan looked up sharply. “Not in your situation,” she clarified. “I meant…about endings not lasting. People you think you have no chance with...they can come back. They can forgive you.” She stood still in the darkness, her silhouette barely discernible from the wall. “They can forgive themselves,” she added.

They stood in silence for a moment. Ethan grew conscious of the space the two of them took up, the wide yawn of the gap between them. Outside, it started to rain gently. Waves of laughter rolled from the quad and bounced against their window, spraying them with the last of their sound before turning back and fading into the evening.

Vanessa plucked a small, rectangular object from her bed. She returned to his side, the shape tucked under her arm.

“Here.” She held it out to him. “Something’s bothering you. Something I don’t understand. I don’t know if you’ll let me help you, but until you decide…”

She pressed the pillow into his hands. “Holding onto things helps.”

“Vanessa—”

She felt a shock at hearing her name in his mouth, so rich and defined. There was a rawness to its edges that she hadn’t heard before. Something like longing, or want, or—

Ethan set the pillow on his desk gently and crossed the floor until they were only a foot away. He searched for her eyes until he could find them, just barely visible in the dimness. 

Inside of him, a rose flowered.

He wanted to hold her. Take her into his arms and slide his fingers through her hair and stand together until they forgot what their pasts sounded like, how noisy they were in the night. Just a few seconds, he promised himself. Just a moment more and he’d ask her, quietly, if he could give his heartbeat up to her, rest his chin on her head.

The lights flickered on. Both of them winced, stepping back into their sides of the room to escape from the fluorescent glare.

Ethan’s eyes adjusted first.

“Is...that new?” He pointed to a letter on her bed. He watched her pick it up, heartbeat still fast. Had they left the door unlocked? No, he’d heard the click of Vanessa’s key. How, then? They’d been here the whole time.

Vanessa looked up at him, her face a storm of emotion.

“It’s addressed to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw/cw: mild mention of ptsd and dissociation 
> 
> b: .......hey folks
> 
> j: it's been a while, hasn't it?
> 
> b: too long
> 
> j: definitely too long !! but we're back, at least for the moment !!
> 
> b: hope you enjoyed this chapter !! if we missed a warning, please let us know.


	4. waves against a lighthouse

“What does it say?” He crossed the room in a few swift strides and bent over the paper, the gap between the two of them barely wide enough to let in a hummingbird. “Read it to me.”

“Dear Vanessa.” She swallowed, breathed in. “I’m writing to you because there’s something at this school that hasn’t been fixed.” She read him the rest of the letter, her voice wavering as she came upon the details one by one. The ghost hadn’t died on the premises, it seemed: he’d attempted suicide after a lonely year struggling to keep his grades up. The two of them huddled closer as Vanessa told the ghost’s story, twin statues kneeling in prayer. 

“‘I was undiagnosed, but it was clear to me that I was autistic,’” Vanessa read, her hands tight around the paper. “‘I couldn’t get any help without a test—the disability office wanted me to spend nine hours over the course of three days, a feat that would put me out of energy for a week. I couldn’t spare the time; the college couldn’t spare the accommodations.’”

Ethan watched her struggle through the letter. She read as though she were picking each word out of a pile, yet there was a tenderness to her voice that made him wonder how well she knew the ghost’s experience. It was addressed to her, after all. Maybe there was more to her eccentricities than he thought. 

“‘This school didn’t know how to help me.’” Vanessa bit her lip to keep herself from crying. “‘It’s been years. We haven’t gotten much better.’” She looked up at Ethan, closing the paper. “‘Maybe you can help me.’” 

Ethan exhaled slowly. “Is there a signature?”

She flipped the paper open again. “‘Proteus.’ That’s all it says.” She folded the letter and set it on the edge of the bed. She was too exhausted to move suddenly, the seriousness of the situation hanging like weights around her wrists. Guilt flickered in her; she’d been so eager to show off her connection to ghosts that she’d forgotten they were tied here by something terrible, something unfinished. They weren’t tools in a casual flirtation. She should’ve known better.

Ethan backed away, pushing his nervous hand into his pockets. “I’ll turn out the lights as soon as you’re ready.” He swept a change of clothes under his arm in one fluid motion and left the room. Vanessa sunk onto the bed, her eyes unfocused. Dimly, she noticed how vast the room felt without him, like a painting with no subject.

She wanted to touch him. No; more than that. She was sickened by the strength of her desire. It was never just a touch for her. It was a firework. An entire field of flowers. 

She collapsed onto her bed. It was fine if she slept like this. She’d make up for it tomorrow, somehow.

Ethan found her asleep a few moments later, curled on her bed like a jagged crescent moon. Gently, he unlaced her converse and pulled the covers around her.

* * *

Vanessa walked past the first staircase with practiced accuracy. The house-turned-academic-building had a few false starts that would lead you smack into a classroom if you weren’t careful. 

She’d been to Professor Clayton’s office a thousand times by now, but she checked the sign by her door to make sure she hadn’t, by some odd accident, switched places in the middle of the night. Carefully, she knocked twice on the door, wincing at how the sound broke the studious quiet into pieces. 

“Come in! Ah, Vanessa. Right on time.” She took a cursory glance around the office as she made her way to the chair in front of the desk. To an outsider, it might look cold and impersonal, but there were touches of warmth if you knew where to look. “You look tired. Are you getting enough sleep?”

Vanessa sighed and smiled a little bitterly. “Do you know what autistic burnout means?” It took a lot for her to admit both of those words.

“Why don’t you explain it to me?” Vanessa watched herself going through the motions. The concept was simple: an autistic person was tired from years of pretending to be typical. One by one, the brain lost skills: complicated ones, at first, like math problems or analytical writing. Then the simple ones: reading, even talking. Getting dressed in the morning. 

“Do you know what might’ve caused—”

“Mina left. I know what this college looks like with her presence. Without her, it’s entirely different.” Vanessa stretched the ends of her skirt between her fingers, trying to tease warmth into her hands numb from her fear. “It’s like I’ve changed entire worlds.”

Her advisor talked her through a few options: she could brave the disability office and get official accommodations (ugh), drop out for a semester (unthinkable), or try to suffer through it. The last one seemed obvious—the least worrying, the most practical, but she wasn’t sure how she’d manage it. What happened when she lost the ability to read? What college student can’t _read_?

Vanessa excused herself after a few more minutes. 

“Keep me posted, Vanessa. I’ll see you soon.” A smile, a nod. She wandered out of the house and back through campus. A group of friends studied at the tables near the coffee shop, pens tucked messily into their hair. On the street, a flash of blue whizzed by.

She almost cried with relief when she twisted the door handle and found it locked. She was safe. Her bag hit the floor with a thud and she reached for the pillow she’d handed to Ethan last night. Gently, she took it between her hands and pressed it against her chest. 

Then came the sobs. 

It was hopeless for her to stay! Barely a week in and she was too tired for it, all of it—the social pressures, the schoolwork, the aching in her fingers to grab onto Ethan’s— _someone’s_ —shirt and pull him close. She cried until she was fully drained of it, her face messy, her brain too spent to spin stories about how she’d fail out of college and return to her empty, loveless home, leeching off friends until she finally gave up. 

If only it were that easy.

* * *

Ethan hadn’t enjoyed a day like this in _years_. 

First, he’d gotten a perfect score on that morning’s quiz, a gift dropped from the heavens. On the way back from class, he ran to pick up a student’s dropped ID; they were so happy at its safe return that they hugged him, the two of them matched in their carefree energy. He walked into the environmental center with a blissful smile on his face. On top of it all, the weather was perfect: clear blue sky, light gusts of wind. No risk of a shower to drown out today’s light. 

He let himself wander off the paths, a destination unnecessary. He’d stop when he was sated. He could always find his way in the woods. 

He strolled back into the dorms, whistling a song. The door was open! Perfect, he’d be able to tell her all about it.

“Vanessa! You know, I’m starting to believe—”

She was sitting on her bed, absolutely devastated. Light came through the blinds in thin bands, slicing open the bedcovers under which she’d tucked her legs. Her hair drooped out of its constraints, framing a face pale from crying. 

“Vanessa.” She didn’t look up at him. She barely moved at all except for a twitch in her hands. Ethan bit his tongue and willed himself not to panic. He’d never seen her like this before, so lifeless, devoid of all motion. What if something was seriously wrong? Should he call campus safety? Were drugs involved, or just emotion? Would he even be able to tell?

“I’m going to...don’t move, OK?” He dropped his messenger bag and examined his stuff. “You don’t have to talk. I’ll figure out a way to help you.”

Vanessa watched him, her heart punctured by his sweetness. No talking. Like he knew that would be too hard for her.

“Um...hold on.” Ethan picked each object off his desk for a brief moment before setting it back. Not books, not pencils, not that odd little trinket his mother had given him. Something comforting. What would be comforting? 

He looked back at her. She was shivering violently now. A jacket! 

“Here.” He draped a pale brown coat over her shoulders. What could he do next? He could sit next to her, sure, but after that. She probably wouldn’t want to leave the dorms, he realized. Maybe he should run to the market, grab something for the two of them to eat. 

Vanessa pushed a hand into the mattress, struggling with the effort of standing up. He moved to support her, but stopped a moment before touching her arm. Some people didn’t want help. He had to respect that. 

“You’re trying,” she said quietly. “Thank you for trying.” She managed to stand up, walking unsteadily to where she’d dropped her shoes. When she spoke, it was with a voice utterly unlike what he’d normally heard—splintered, like she had to chip each syllable out of ice. 

“I can’t ask that you do anything more.” Shoelaces finally tied, she slipped the jacket from her shoulders and handed it back to him so softly he could feel the tenderness through the fabric. “This is yours.”

She left the room without looking at him.

* * *

Vanessa tore open the bag of chips and settled into the bench, unsuccessfully ignoring the bustle of the sidewalk in front of her. She knew it wasn’t right to leave him like that, but she needed some time to herself, something simple to do. Salt was easy: want, then satisfaction. Repeat until the pain went away.

Briefly, she considered the thought that if she’d only had someone to hold her, none of this would’ve happened. She brushed the salt from her fingers. It wasn’t a productive thought. 

Mina used to be that person. She wasn’t just comforting to be around, but knowing, as if she could see into your brain and soothe the chemical imbalances, the pathways tread over too often. She would come over and make you tea and hold you for a full ten minutes if that’s what you needed—and never once would she yell.

Well, not until she decided you two were no longer compatible. Then she’d forget everything she’d learned about you—all the soft things to put between your fingers, all the reassurance to talk you through until you actually believed it—and replace it with a harshness born from spite.

Ethan was sweet, but Vanessa didn’t know if she could risk that kind of betrayal again. And even if she could—

His voice, unbidden, swept through her mind, its warm tones almost bringing her back to tears. Maybe he could be kind to her. Maybe he could even learn how to take care of her. But why would he _want_ to?

She sighed again, crumpling the bag and wincing at the sharp sound it left behind. It was too complicated. She didn’t want to navigate the beginnings of a relationship. She’d already done her homework. 

She looked up and saw Victor edging past the crowds, clutching a notebook to his chest. He met her eyes briefly, and she smiled before he looked away. She watched him disappear into the coffee shop. He looked so tired, that boy. Like bruises on his face. Probably too worn down to notice she’d the slump in her body.

And that was it—she always seemed so _good_ at it. She could smile. She could greet people. She could raise points in class. 

She pushed the crumpled bag into the trash and walked in the opposite direction of home.

She could put outfits together. She could schedule things. She could laugh at all the right times in all the right ways.

The sidewalk was quieter here, the last stragglers walking from the dining hall with an apple or a tall red cup in their hands. 

She could tell stories! Take a memory and spin it into a narrative. She smiled grimly to herself. Scripting. All scripting. Observing, adjusting, planning—so much effort spent just to appear normal. 

Anyone who really understood wouldn’t think it was worth it.

* * *

Victor took a sip from his coffee cup and winced at the heat. He never waited long enough. He always had things to do, paths to set in motion. The time spent between point A and point B were useful if extracted the right way.

He ran through the list in his head: Lab report. Poetry reading. Laundry. He could do the laundry first. No—put the clothes in the washer, do his reading, switch out the laundry—

His train of thought was interrupted by the sturdiness of the boy he just ran into. The tall...remarkably handsome boy leaning down to pick up his notebook. 

His flawless plan ruined by the inherent chaos of the universe, it seemed.

Before he knew it, the cute boy had picked up his notebook, brushed the dirt from it, and was handing it back to him, saying something about—

“Everything alright in there…” The (angelic-looking, really) boy turned the notebook around. “...Victor?”

Victor took it back and looked at him a little too long. He managed a stuttered thanks before shouldering past him. He tried to shake the image of the boy’s unbearably cheeky smile from his mind before he ran into someone else, someone much less forgiving. God, he was always so _awkward_. He shook himself a little.

Laundry.

* * *

Ethan found her standing in front of one of the history buildings. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He wanted to interrupt, but he held his tongue. 

“I’m…” She put her hands in front of her and laced her fingers, thinking. “I’m not made for comfort. She looked at him, finally. The hurt swam from her eyes to the corners of her mouth, pointing her whole face downward. He could tell she was biting her cheek to keep from crying. “I won’t be able to make this easy on you.”

She stuffed her hands into her pockets and took a shuddering breath. “And if…” She swallowed. “If that’s more than what you bargained for, I understand.”

Ethan tried not to stare. Was she serious? Did she genuinely, wholeheartedly believe that he’d just leave her like that? Over some crying, some differences between the two of them?

He gave her a long hard look before waving at her to follow. “Come with me, will you?”

She trailed him back to their dorm, wiping tears away a few times, sniffling a bit. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and saw her cross her arms over her chest as though guarding herself. Like even the wind could hurt her if it felt particularly malicious that day. 

He unlocked the door and pulled it open for her. She paused before walking in, meeting his eyes for a moment. It was the unexpectedness of the look at that made his heart jump, Ethan told himself, but he knew damn well it wasn’t true. He’d seen her cry, after all, and it didn’t make him want to back away, or call her “crazy,” or do any number of unfair, heartless things he imagined she’d experienced countless times already. No, it made him want to wrap himself around her until she felt better, as if he could give her peace as easy as that.

Well, nothing would stop him from trying.

“Vanessa.” He stood in front of her, careful to keep his hands open. He didn’t want to be threatening, not with her clutching the ends of a blanket between her hands, rocking back and forth as elegantly as waves rolling across the sea. 

How hadn’t he noticed this before? How much he wanted to hold her? It seemed so innocuous, yet he was entirely submerged by now, vision blurry under the water, salt in his eyes.

And there she was, swaying on the surface. Always present in her intensity. 

Vanessa took her eyes off the floor for a moment, taking in the heaving of his chest and the steadiness of his gaze before flicking her eyes away again, embarrassed. She wished he’d say something. It distracted her, the steadiness of his presence. It made her wonder how it might feel for him to put a hand against her cheek, or to slide his fingers through her hair, smooth like water over rocks, like the shine of a river, gleaming under the sun…

“This is your home: this room, right here.”

His voice crashed over her, vivid in all its warmth, the fragility of its tremors. Everything he did just heightened her longing. He could ignore her for a week and still the sight of him would make her think of hot tea and comfortable dreams and just—

Why was she like this? Why was she so dependent, so quick to want someone and daydream about their touch? She’d go months without a stir, and then she’d be surrounded by it, a storm with her at the center.

And Ethan would be standing just beyond the rain, safe as a lighthouse. Bringing all the ships to shore, one by one.

“Vanessa...are you listening?”

He leaned forward a little. He was fully conscious now of how everything he did might frighten her, how loud he might sound. He didn’t understand what it meant to be autistic, but he knew it made things harder. He never wanted to be careless of that. 

“I said…”

A swallow, for luck.

“I said that I want to help. Whatever that means—we can figure it out. But I’m not the type of person to leave. I care—”

She tuned out again, the words floating over her head. 

“Vanessa?”

“Can I?” It was the first thing she’d said since they’d gotten back. Ethan put his hands behind his back so she wouldn’t see him fidgeting. 

“Can I...um...can I…” 

The air hung between them thick as tar. She struggled to get the words out as though pulling them from a tangle of wire.

“Can I…” She wrung her hands in frustration. “I need to whisper it.”

They crossed the floor, meeting at the center.

“Can I look at you for a bit?” She seemed almost miserable asking him, her face twisted in embarrassment, her hands clenched so tightly he could feel the sting from her nails just by looking at her. “I’m sorry. I’m...I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” 

She couldn’t stop saying it; the words were on repeat, endlessly looping. This happened to her sometimes, but the fear of social ostracization would normally shut her down. Ethan opened her up. She didn’t know how to be normal in his presence. She didn’t know how to be calculated. 

Softly, Ethan put a hand on her arm. They locked eyes for a moment before Vanessa broke away, pulling the blanket around herself more fully.

“Don’t...you don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t want to see me like this.”

“Like _what?_ ”

“All...undone. All the crying, Ethan! The sobbing into your shirts at night, the nightmares, the screams.” She tears were sliding down the sides of her face now. Ethan couldn’t take it. The girl in front of him truly believed she didn’t deserve a moment of comfort. Not a single kind touch of a hand. 

“But I won’t hurt you. I’d never…” This wasn’t working. How could you convince someone this wild-eyed that you mean them no harm? “You wanted to look at me, right?”

Vanessa nodded, eyes firmly pointed to the floor. 

“Then look at me, and whatever happens next...happens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw/cw: suicide ment and implied (multiple times), symptoms of bpd 
> 
> j: hello every1 !! 
> 
> b: yeah, it's,,,
> 
> j: it's been a while
> 
> b: sorry, y'all. we'll try to get better at this.
> 
> j: i hope you enjoyed the chapter !! it's a little dreary, i know, but things will lighten up for these nerds soon enough !!


	5. a kind of peace

With all the confidence of a newborn deer, Vanessa lifted her head and looked into his eyes. This was exactly what she feared: the slightest opportunity, a barely open door, and she would herself into a relationship no one wanted. She could hang on for a while, scrape the bottom of the jar for attention, but he wouldn’t want her. Not as long as she wanted him. 

Except…

She didn’t need to beg this time. Quite the opposite; he’d met her halfway. He’d done all the work himself, and—what was he doing?

“I don’t think you’re paying attention,” he murmured, a smile creeping along his face. “All that effort just to get me here, and you’re not even looking.” He gently nudged her face upward. “It’s OK,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Nowhere else you’d rather be?” She breathed, barely aware she was talking.

“No. Not a place.”

It seemed...foolish to her, getting so worked up over looking at someone. She’d always felt the things she daydreamed about were so juvenile: hugs, careful kisses—like she’d never grown up.

But it couldn’t hurt to let herself be, just this once, could it?

So she looked at him. She stared into his eyes until she felt she might drown. He refrained from touching her, and she from touching him, and they got lost in each other for a few blissful, sheepish, confusing minutes.

And then they slept as though nothing had happened.

* * *

By the time Vanessa got up the next morning, Ethan had already left. He had early classes—enjoyed them, for some reason—and they fell into a routine of cautious glances and secret smiles. Which turned into a patchwork of inside jokes and dinners together. 

Which turned into...friendship, really. The good kind. Getting out of bed each morning and turning to see Ethan’s comforter neatly turned back at the headboard—well, it brought her a kind of peace just to know his presence was so close. He softened all the corners of their room, a frequent enough visitor to push open that door and send her thoughts scattering with that simple, gorgeous smile of his. 

Vanessa pulled up the blinds and checked her watch. She pushed the tab on the electric kettle and perched on the edge of her bed, empty cup cradled in her hand. What today? Mint, perhaps? Or chamomile? She longed for a full produce section; the quiet of her rural surroundings took the sting off her nightmares, but to start the day with chopped strawberries and fresh bread…

She flicked the switch and poured the water—earl grey; couldn’t go wrong with that. She opened her computer and clicked to her notes sheet. Where was she? Chapter three looked familiar, but it couldn’t hurt to look over it, again. Couldn’t be too familiar with the Christian afterlife, especially if you were the kind of person who saw ghosts on a regular basis. 

She felt a twinge in her stomach as she remembered the letter. She hadn’t done much about its contents, other than think about it every once in a while, but Proteus couldn’t blame her, right? She’d needed the time for recovery, to pick her skills back up one by one. She could read most of the time, and her handwriting was reasonably neat, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was balancing on a thin wire, and soon enough, she’d be back chest deep, having to talk herself through showering and the ups and downs of the science buildings. 

She looked at her desk drawer. The letter was just inside. Maybe it was time she gave it another read, started jotting down possible plans of action…

 _You have a test today,_ her anxiety nagged her. _You could fail if you don’t study hard enough._

Vanessa sighed and packed her bag. Maybe it would be easier to focus somewhere else.

* * *

Ethan flicked through his notifications. The bustle of the servery swept like river currents around a rock, boisterous and colorful. There was something calming about having a place to stand in a place of such disorder, even if that place was in a stock-still line, the start of his next class plodding toward him minute by minute.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and took a step forward. Just three more people and he’d be out of there.

“Jacob! What’s going on, man?” A tall boy in a red polo shirt slapped the shoulder of the student behind him. Ethan checked his phone again. He liked eating alone—always had—but the dining hall felt a lot more welcoming to groups. You had to be stealthy if you wanted to reserve a spot for yourself: a jacket casually piled on a chair would often do the trick, though some trusting souls left their phones behind. He’d tried silverware before and quickly learned you needed something more substantial. You had to offer up a piece of yourself to let everyone know you were serious.

Not a bad life philosophy, as far as corny phrases go.

“And for you, sir?” The voice called him back to reality. 

“Oh, just plain for me. Thanks very much,” he added, calling over the hiss of the burner as she stirred the contents of the pan and scooped some into a bowl for him. She had burns on her arm—couldn’t be easy to work here. Wasn’t it dangerous to stand that close to the stove? 

“Here you go. Have a nice day!” Ethan sprinkled some parmesan on his pasta and left the line in search of a quiet seat. Second floor, perhaps? Or were classes in session? 

“Ethan!” Vanessa put her hand on his forearm, a pleasant smile on her face. “I’ve snagged a couch downstairs. Care to join me?”

* * *

“I should warn you now,” she said as they walked downstairs together, their footsteps almost in-sync. “I’ve got a test in an hour. Might not be talking much.” Ethan winced in sympathy.

“Ooh, can’t be fun. What’s it on?” He took a bite of pasta and raised his eyebrows in surprise. Hot this time. Not bad.

“Comparative religion. It’s…” She let out a slow sigh. “It’s interesting. Raises a lot of questions. Not the ones I think the professor is going for.” 

“Why not? Subject like that, I’m sure he’s come to expect a lot of debate.”

“These are...personal.”

“Ah.” He leaned back, unwilling to push the matter. Vanessa looked down at her notebook, chewing on her thumbnail. Hang on—

“Are you eating anything?”

“What? Oh, I¬—” A faint blush crept into her cheeks, and she looked up at him, sheepish. “I wanted something, but my coordination is poor today. I don’t want to burn myself.”

Ethan resisted the temptation to take one of her hands in his own. 

_No one does._

* * *

Ethan glanced at the clock and carefully recapped his pen. The discussion straggled on, a weak point raised every now and then about the allusions or the meter, but the bulk of the class’s insight was spent. It was a waiting game at this point. One misstep and you’d be hurled in the midst of the hunting ground, young blood for a pack of callous veterans.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t quite that ruthless. But it sure felt that way some days.

In any case, he’d made it out with barely a scratch. A few missteps in a class discussion wouldn’t ruin his day.

But they could.

He’d just _talk_ : say something imperfect, not quite insightful enough, and it would all come rushing back. 

_“I raised a son, not a failure. You see this? You see this, Ethan? You wanna be worth something when you’re grown up? Huh?”_

Ethan stopped on the middle of the sidewalk, his breath shaky. _Calm down. You’re...you’re here._

Here, on a campus so small it only needed one of everything, one coffee shop, one library, one quad for the freshman and one for the science buildings. One dorm to bury your heartbreak in and one that would create you anew, with its warmth and its windows and its roommate who was kinder and funnier and more broken in the same places than you ever dared to hope.

All he had to do was remember where he was.

* * *

Vanessa pulled the door open. There he was, crown jewel of her thoughts, staring at a crack in the paint like he was contemplating the universe’s creation. 

“Vanessa!” Ethan took a small package from the corner of his desk and held it out to her. “Got something for you. Thought you might...well, just open it.” She took it from him, gratitude brightening her eyes. 

“Ethan! That’s so thoughtful, I—”

“I didn’t know when your birthday was. So I asked around, and—”

“May 3rd,” she said, smiling. 

“—yeah, and that’s too far away to wait, so. This is just for, y’know. Being so kind to me.” 

Ethan watched her fiddle with the loose edges of the wrapping paper. Her smile, at first pleasant and warm, froze, as though she were afraid of his reaction should it slip from her face and crack on the tile. Maybe gifts made her nervous. Maybe he was worrying over nothing. Maybe he was completely correct and she’d hate him after this. Maybe he didn’t really know her at all, and all the time spent together had been an illusion, an enchantingly realistic dream. 

He rolled his eyes at himself. Maybe. Or maybe it’s Maybelline. 

“Did you get me...a fidget?” She held a piece of cloth between her fingers and tugged on it gently. Reverently, as though she were in church, she put the fabric to her lips, her eyes closed.

Ethan swallowed. Inside of him, a braver version of himself pressed her hand in his and kissed her without a thought to the consequences. 

“It’s perfect. No, really...no one’s ever gotten me something so comforting before.” 

“You pull on the ends of your shirt sleeves a lot,” Ethan responded, holding his hands behind his back. “I thought it might help to…” He lost track of the sentences as she met his eyes. Gratitude sparkled there, along with joy, but what was behind it? A touch of playfulness? 

“Vanessa…” He stopped. Started again. “You wanted to look at me that night, right? I didn’t make it up?”

Vanessa searched him. She could hide it. Yes, she certainly could make up some excuse. The possibilities were boundless: exhaustion, for one. Instability. Old habits. Stress. 

But would that do her any good?

No one had ever entered her life with so much care before. To reject that would be like—

_—like watching a part of yourself turn to dust._

“I didn’t.” She rubbed the cloth between two fingers and forced out the words: 

“There’s something we should talk about.”

**Author's Note:**

> tw/cw: none
> 
> j: hey everyone !!
> 
> b: hello !! 
> 
> j: i'm the author of this fic, and b here is my beta reader.
> 
> b: if any of you have any warnings you need tagged, let us know. we'll accommodate you however we can. 
> 
> j: we'll be posting sporadically, so subscribe to stay posted on what these two dorks get up to !!


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